Ghost On Board
by Googleeyes
Summary: A handsome young sailor, a beautiful young noblewoman arranged to be married, and a bitter pirate ghost, all aboard a ship bound for England. Will their journey be easy? Not with a ghost on board.
1. Prologue

_So, I've decided to rewrite parts of this story and re-post them. For the most part, I'm not changing anything too major, for anyone who remembers the original, I'm just modifying a few small bits that bothered me. The prologue and first chapter are the most different. Also, sorry for the very short prologue. I suppose I could have added it to the next chapter, or something. Anyway, enjoy, and don't forget to review.

* * *

_It was only a legend. That was the generally accepted explanation- the explanation for the strange stories about the history of the ship _H.M.S Rose _before it was in the Royal English Navy. No one really believed the stories of the French pirate ship (usually called the _Night's Music _or something similar when a name was needed) with the dreadfully mysterious captain, crew of beggars off the streets, and women on board (which, as everyone knew, led to terrible bad luck).

Many newcomers to the ship found the tales a bit romantic in their sense of adventure- the way the ship quickly rose to power, becoming one of the most feared on the ocean, striking in the dead of night when no one expected it, amassing unknown quantities of precious treasure, then suddenly disappearing one day never to be seen again.

At this point almost every storyteller differed in his explanation of the unexpected disappearance. Some said it was the captain's fault, something he had done. Others blamed a mutinous crew whose captain felt the need to punish them. One of the more popular theories was that the ship had been dangerously close to being caught, and flight was the only option left to the crew in order to avoid capture and the gallows. But almost everyone agreed on one thing- that one pirate had been left behind, most likely murdered, and remained on the ship in search of the crew who killed him.

The stories of the ghost pirate were most likely inspired by the mysterious hidden chambers and locked doors to which no one could find a key. This was the one part of the tale some sailors actually believed. For even sailors, superstitious as they are, have the common sense to not mix fantasy and reality. Nothing had been found on the ship when it was renovated for use in His Majesty's navy, and there was no other reason to suspect that the ship had previously served as a mysterious pirate vessel.

But what none of the sailors knew was that the tales were true, every one of them. Especially the tale of the ghost pirate.


	2. New Sailor

In Which the Main Players are Introduced.

* * *

"For an English ship, there are a lot of French sailors here," Christian Daae commented with a small smile, after being introduced to the last sailor. "And I thought the English and the French didn't get along."

The young sailor assigned to show Christian around laughed. "It's a bit different at sea, I suppose. On this ship, at least. We do quite a bit of trading with the French and it helps to have sailors who speak the language, so the English on the ship tolerate us, for the most part."

"You're French?"

"Oui." The other sailor's lips twitched up at the corners into a sort of half-smile, one he wore often. "I lived in Paris until my father decided to join the English navy and drag me with him. What about you? Where are you from? You've got a sort of accent, I think."

Christian shrugged. "I'm Swedish, actually, but I lived in France for several years before coming to England."

"Really?" Now the other sailor looked intrigued. "Where did you live?"

"Paris, actually. It's such a beautiful city. I loved living there, walking along the boulevards, eating at the fine restaurants… I miss it, sometimes." Christian smiled at the fond memories. "I worked at the Opera House for a while."

"Really? My dad worked at the Opera House, too. He was a box-keeper. What did you do? I went to watch the dancers." Now it was the other man smiling at fond memories.

"I did odd jobs, mostly. I helped clean up after performances, filled in when someone was missing. One time I got to help out in the organ. You know, the big furnace where they keep the fire for the gaslights. I was paid well enough, I had money for food and all that, but I really wanted to perform."

His partner was now growing increasingly absorbed into the tale. "Did you audition? Are you any good?"

Christian looked downward, the dreamy, remembering cast gone from his face. He spoke in a monotone voice now, not meeting the eyes of the other sailor. "I'm good. My father always said I could be great if I wanted to. I used to perform at little fairs with him. He played the fiddle and I sang. My mother died before I could remember, but I loved my father. When he died, I couldn't sing anymore. It reminded me too much of him. Now I wouldn't be able to get up in front of a crowd to perform like that."

"That's too bad." Christian looked up now and saw sadness and disappointment in the young man's face. "We have a musical night on Fridays, but not many men on the _Rose _sing, and it's all the same instruments every week. Well, the Siren sings, but…"

"The what?" Christian's expression was now one of surprise.

"The Siren. Every night we hear something singing. It comes through the planks beneath our feet and fills our heads with its unearthly voice. Some people think it's the Ghost, but they don't know anything." He let out a short, twinkling laugh. "I know better. I know people who have actually seen the Ghost."

"Now there's a ghost, too? You're all more superstitious than I thought."

"There really is a ghost," the other man persisted, seeming slightly offended. "He's a dead pirate from the days when this was a pirate ship. His crew killed him and now he wanders the decks at night searching for some sign of his old crew, so he can have his revenge."

"You two! Stop with this fairy tale nonsense and get to work! There's a lot to be done!" a harsh voice shouted suddenly. Christian jumped and turned to face the person he had not heard come up behind him.

"Sorry, Richard, sir," the other sailor immediately began apologizing. "We were caught up in our conversation."

The older man lowered his gaze. "Be sure it doesn't happen again." He turned on his heel abruptly and strode away.

"Who was that? And is he always like that or are we just special?"

"Firmin Richard, Bo'sun and first rate nag. He always finds something to criticize. It's in his nature. If you make sure to be on your best behaviour around him you'll survive. But we really do need to get to work."

Christian adjusted the satchel on his shoulder. "All right, but I need to put my bag away first. Could you show me where to put it, maybe? Oh, and what's your name again? I'm Christian or Chris if you prefer."

"I'm Marc. Just follow me, I'll take you to where you'll be sleeping."

Christian followed Marc down to one of the lower levels of the ship, wondering what life on this ship would be like.

* * *

Esther banged her fist on the table. It was not a good day. First, one of the strings on her violin had broken and it was too early in the day to get a replacement. Then, she had discovered her flute badly needed to be cleaned, but it was too early for that as well. Next, she had decided to calm herself down by reading a book, but some water had splashed through a crack in the wall and splattered her page. She had decided to write another letter of complaint to the captain about the crack, and now she had spilled ink all over her nearly complete letter.

"Curse the infernal rocking of this ship!" she yelled in frustration to the empty cabin. She seized the ink-stained letter and ripped it to pieces, throwing them into the air where they fell to the ground like confetti around her seat at the rough wooden table. "I wish the captain would fix that bloody hole already!"

"I have a feeling a certain pirate ghost has been having a bad day," a male voice called out smoothly.

Esther whipped around and glared at the figure in the doorway that had appeared out of the wall. "What do you want, Nader?"

The sailor strode into the disorderly room, stepping over the heaps of Esther's possessions strewn across the floor. "I want to calm you down before some curious sailor comes down here, finds you, and throws you off the ship."

"Do you honestly think I'd let that happen? You know I've rigged every accessible corridor nearing this room with trapdoors and… other traps." Esther kicked a ball of twine across the floor and headed toward Nader.

"If everywhere's rigged, how do the captain's assistants get down here?" Nader had stopped and was now looking at the shreds of ink-stained paper on the floor.

"You know I only let the one down here, and I make sure the traps aren't set when I know he's coming. You should consider yourself lucky there's another way in because some of those traps are pretty nasty. Now stop acting dim or you might have the privilege of experiencing them firsthand." Esther walked over to the table and glanced at the floor.

"What happened?" Nader asked in slightly more subdued tone of voice, gesturing to the small pieces of paper.

Esther gathered up the pieces and tossed them in the rubbish bin in the corner. "The boat jerked and I knocked my ink all over my paper. By the way, tell the captain he needs to send the assistant down here. There's a hole in the wall."

Nader stepped away from the table and began gathering up Esther's scattered papers, looking them over as he picked them up. "Was music not working out for you?"

"I need a violin string and something to clean my flute with," Esther replied from her place near the small bucket of water against one wall. She rinsed off her hands and gathered up a damp rag. "Is there a lot of ink on the table?"

Nader glanced down. "Not too much."

"Is there any at all?"

"Yes."

Esther groaned. "Of course, there has to be some. Not too much, just enough to further ruin my day." She strode over to the table and began mopping up the red ink. "Any news from the outside world? We stopped recently, are there any new arrivals?"

Nader took a seat on a wooden stool. "Actually, yes. We stopped in England and acquired several new midshipmen, one man tried to desert but was caught, and most sailors came back drunk beyond belief."

"Typical." Esther returned the supplies to the sink. "What's the status on local legends?"

"Marc was telling one of the new sailors about the ship's history. Apparently, you can't sing and Marc is a sort of ghost expert. He thinks there's a siren as well." Nader picked at a piece of splintering wood on the stool.

"Not surprising with Marc. Are any of the new sailors musicians?"

Nader looked at the ceiling as he tried to recall. "I think one of them plays the pennywhistle. Marc's new friend sings, but he has stage fright."

Esther pulled out her pocketwatch and examined it. "Pity. We need someone other than myself who can sing decently. You should probably leave soon. Your break will be over and your superiors will be angry. Check up on any other news for me and see if you can get an idea of our next stop. I've been getting restless lately."

Nader grabbed Esther's watch and glanced at it. He nodded and slipped through the secret door next to the bookcase. Esther sighed. Now she almost missed his company. She really did need to get out soon.

Esther strode back over to the table and pulled out another piece of paper. She had enough ink to try one more note. She lit a lamp, as the light in the crack above her had gone out. Scooting piles of paper out of the way, Esther cleared the table and set aside the black bandana that usually covered everything but her sunken eyes. If anyone else came to bother her, she could always put it on again, but it did grow uncomfortably warm after a while…

* * *

Rochelle de Chagny paced across her large bedroom, thinking. Was there any way she could get out of this dreadful arrangement? Could she possibly convince her older brother to let her choose a husband? It didn't seem likely. He was far too concerned with her welfare and making sure she had a conventional, normal life in the absence of both her parents. But she certainly preferred not to marry Lord Rathborne. Rochelle liked her men younger, fitter, and French. She didn't want to marry a stuffy old English man with the body of an over-plumped pillow. She didn't even know English! What could she do?

"Mademoiselle!" a servant called as she knocked on Rochelle's door. Rochelle hastily picked up the pillows she had strewn on the floor and slipped on a dressing gown over her thin nightdress.

"Yes?" Rochelle answered.

"You have a guest. His name is Monsieur Winslow and he has made you a wedding ring."

Rochelle nearly tripped on her way to the wardrobe to change. "Wedding ring? What about an engagement ring? Shouldn't we have an engagement ring first?"

"Oh, do not worry. He has one of those, too. Please hurry up and get ready, he can't wait forever."

Rochelle rolled her eyes. "He can wait until he rots for all I care," she muttered as she pulled out a corset. Unfortunately, her brother had insisted on getting the most complicated corset in the store. She glared at the undergarment for a moment. "Angeline, would you please help me with my corset?"

"Of course, mademoiselle." The thin maid bustled into the room and immediately began adjusting Rochelle's corset. Rochelle tried to sigh, but the corset wouldn't allow it. Instead she contented herself with daydreams. Thinking of an un-arranged marriage to a man she actually loved might be unrealistic, but it was a wonderful distraction from real life.


	3. Is Anyone Dead?

In Which There is an Unfortunate Incident  


* * *

Christian shoved his mop into the already dirty water. He twirled it around a bit while thinking over the recent events. Marc was at least partially right; there was something unnatural aboard the ship. Sure enough, there was the ghostly singing at night and a few strange occurrences during the day as well. For example, the sail accident. Sails didn't often spontaneously come loose and fall off their masts onto sailors below. The sailor who had gotten hit had thrown a bit of a fit as well. He kept claiming someone was out to get him. Of course, it had been Carlos, the officer notorious for hissy fits and bouts of complaining, an egomaniac with plans to overthrow the captain someday. As if he could actually handle the running of a ship…

"Oi! You there! Isn't you s'posed to be cleanin'?"

Christian looked up into the face of Joseph, an older and more experienced midshipman. Though there was no actual rule, everyone knew the older sailors could boss the younger ones around they chose. It came with years of experience, and survival. Christian gulped and stood up straighter. "Er, yes, sir. I'm getting right on it."

Joseph regarded him with his one good eye. "Right. I'm keepin' an eye on you." He pointed to his eye and slowly walked away. Christian pulled out the mop and rubbed it against the deck, trying to get out the ground-in grime. After five minutes of fruitless scrubbing, he finally gave up and moved on to the next section of dirty planks. He looked up at the rigging and saw Marc perched in the crow's nest. Christian waved. Marc waved back, took a few glances around at the open sea, then climbed down.

"Chris, how's it going?" he asked, smiling.

Christian shrugged. "I just got told off by Joseph the one-eyed guy."

Marc laughed. "Figures. You need to watch out for him; he's really serious about making sure everyone works. He's been a sailor for years. Takes everything too seriously. Anyway, has anything interesting happened down here?"

Christian looked around nervously. "No, but shouldn't you be getting back up to the crow's nest? We could both get in a lot of trouble."

Marc rolled his eyes. "Nah, I never get caught. No one actually looks up to check on me very much 'cause they're all so busy with their stuff down here, and there are so many people around I don't stick out of the crowd. C'mon Chris, lighten up a bit. Just because we're on a navy ship doesn't mean we have to be serious. Everyone knows only half the ships in the Royal Navy are actually used for official navy business, and ours isn't one of them. From what I know, we're on our way to France to pick up a nobleman's daughter and drop her off in England to get married."

Suddenly Marc's speech was interrupted by a rustling behind a nearby barrel. Both men turned and caught a glimpse of a dark-skinned figure ducking behind one.

Christian picked up his mop once more and began to scrub in a panicked frenzy. "Do you know who that was?" he asked Marc in between violent sweeps of the mop.

Marc had begun dashing back up the rigging. "Yeah, he's the one Persian sailor, and I think he just noticed me. No one knows his name or anything, but most of the other sailors juat call him the Persian. And I really do think you should lighten up. Grow your hair out or something, it'll make you fit in better with the crew!" Marc shouted the final words as he scrambled into the crow's nest.

Christian calmed down a bit and his mop strokes became more regular. He ran one hand through his closely cropped blonde hair and glanced up at Marc's untidy long dark hair, flapping in the wind. No, his hair would remain for now. But perhaps he could sing tonight. Not in front of an audience, of course, but there were some unused rooms that would work just perfectly.

* * *

Nader quietly opened the door to the secret passage. He blinked. The room was completely black. Nervous, he carefully stepped out of the doorway, leaving the door open.

"Esther," he called out nervously. There was no reply. "Esther, are you in here?"

"Go away." Something hit the wall behind him.

Nader flinched as he heard the something break. "Esther, I don't know why you're upset and I'd love to find out, but I have some news. About our destination."

"I don't care."

"Fine, I'll tell you some other time. Er, could you possibly turn a light on? It's a bit dark in here." Nader shifted slightly, a little nervous in the dark.

"No."

"May I light a match?"

"No."

Nader sighed. "Esther, please stop brooding and do something constructive. What have you done so far today?"

"Nothing."

"Well, why don't you play some music, or compose, or draw or something? Anything?"

"No."

Nader sighed again. "Esther, I'm lighting a lantern whether you like it or not." There was no immediate protest, so Nader lit a match. By the dim illumination he could see Esther's huddled figure in the corner. He lit a lantern and Esther shied away from the light.

"Don't shine it on me."

Nader partially covered the lantern with his sleeve. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"I know something happened. Was it with one of the crew members?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Nader inhaled sharply. When Esther started talking like this, people were usually killed. "Is anyone dead?"

"The subject is closed. Now go away."

Nader eyed his friend warily. He made a mental note to check for any missing crew members. "Fine."

He blew out the lantern and replaced it on the table. After a brief glance around the darkened room, he slipped back into the passageway. There were some things that needed to be investigated.

* * *

"Got any fives?" Christian asked.

Marc rolled his eyes. "No, what do you think? Chris, you need to learn some more sophisticated card games. How about poker?"

Christian shrugged. "I'm fine."

"Chris, you're missing out on all the fun things in life. Next time we stop on land, I'm taking you to get a tattoo or something."

Christian looked at Marc in pure mortification.

"Or not. I could find something else. But you need to learn how to have fun." Marc dropped his cards on the table. "I'm bored. I think I'll go get a drink or something." Christian shrugged and began gathering up the cards.

Marc's footsteps faded down the hallway and Christian shuffled the cards. He considered asking someone else to join him until Marc returned, but decided against it when he couldn't find anyone else who wasn't otherwise occupied. Also, come to think of it, he was getting a bit hungry. Perhaps he could beg some food off the cook, who he'd found to be a rather pleasant man.

He put the cards in a pocket and slipped out of the room. A sort of shiver ran up his spine the minute he stepped into the hallway and a feeling of foreboding came over him. Christian pushed the feeling to the back of his mind and continued toward the kitchen, his footsteps echoing eerily off the walls of the empty corridor. He was perhaps halfway to the kitchen when he heard a terrible shriek, sounding as if it had come from somewhere below.

Christian looked around, now terrified, but the corridor remained empty. No one else seemed to have heard the shriek, though he did hear someone's running footsteps up ahead. He continued on slowly, curious, but not sure he wanted to know what the commotion was about.

"Mon Dieu, he's dead!" The shout rang out, echoing as Christian's footsteps had, from the deck below. Christian froze as the shouts continued and the footsteps ahead sped up and hurried down the stairs. "He's dead! He's dead!"

Now doors were beginning to open and sailors to rush out. Christian blinked several times and began moving quickly to avoid being caught up in the crowd. He hurried down the stairs, while footsteps thundered behind him and curious voices babbled, through the corridor until he reached a room where the frightened voice from earlier cried out, "It was the Ghost! The Ghost!"

Christian entered the room quietly and saw Marc consoling a hysterically sobbing sailor. Near them on the floor lay… Christian forced himself to look away while a bit of bile rose up in his throat. Joseph's head was the worst part, bent at an impossible angle…

As the rest of the crew slowly trickled in, Christian allowed himself to be lost in the crowd. He didn't care, now. He was busy trying to force the image from his mind, of Joseph lying there, a bit of blood on his lip.

"He's dead," someone announced, but this time in a more detached, calm voice. It was the ship's doctor, kneeling on the floor, obscuring Joseph's body from view. "He's been strangled with a rope, which has been cut. He may or may not have been hung. It is difficult to be sure."

The previously quiet crowd of sailors burst into speculating conversations. Christian tuned them out, glancing around, noticing Marc still kneeling on the floor by the sobbing sailor, the Persian standing near the front of the crowd looking curiously unsurprised… He needed to get away. He needed to sing.

* * *

_To be continued in the next chapter... Not that it involves any waiting for the next chapter other than waiting for the page to load. _


	4. Singing Lessons and Childhood Friends

In Which Acquaintances are Made

* * *

Christian looked around nervously. No one was in the hallway. He looked around once more then slipped into the storeroom and shut the door. It was a bit musty and slightly dank, but it would do. He set his lantern on an empty shelf. For a moment he wondered how to start, but quickly decided to just let the music take over. Christian took a deep breath and began warming up. He did some scales then started in on a simple folk song he'd often sung as a child.

Christian's confused and mixed-up emotions melted away to be replaced by the pure joy and bliss of singing. The words flowed from his mouth, almost of their own free will, and he could tell he still had some talent. Perhaps it would be good to get over his stage fright. Christian knew he sure wouldn't mind singing more.

A plank creaked nearby. Christian immediately stopped and looked around, terrified once more. He saw no one.

"H-h-hello? Is anyone there?"

At first there was nothing, then a beautiful voice spoke out. "Yes. But do not be afraid. I have come to teach you."

Christian looked around again. The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. "W-who are you? What are you?"

A pause then, "I have come to coach you. I am a voice tutor"

Christian was suddenly reminded of a childhood story his father had often told him. "A-are you the Angel of Music? My father always told me you'd come someday."

"Yes… yes. I am the angel of music and I have finally come for you. I am here to teach."

"You're going to help me improve my singing?"

"Yes. You are very talented, it's true. But you still have much to learn if you wish to be truly great."

Christian hesitated a bit. "Er, I'm sorry, Angel. I'm only a sailor. When will I ever have the opportunity to sing?"

"The ship has a musical night, no? Could you not sing there? If you wish, you could later make a career as a singer."

"Well, ah, I don't… like to… sing in front of people, really. I have a bit of stage fright."

"Then that will have to be remedied," the voice replied crisply. "If you don't mind, I'd like to begin."

"Oh, all right. But, I'm still not sure if I should do this."

Christian could hear the impatience in the voice's reply. "I am the Angel of Music! Do you dare refuse the Angel of Music?"

Christian wriggled nervously under the pressure he felt from the voice. "I'll do it, I'll do it! We can start now."

"Good. Now I'd like you to do a warm-up scale... what is your name?"

"Angel, shouldn't you know?" Christian asked in confusion. "Weren't you sent specifically to teach me?"

"Yes, of course I was, but even we angels do not know everything."

"Oh, of course. My name is Christian Daae."

"Very well, Christian Daae. Please begin with a warm-up scale."

Christian obeyed the voice's commands swiftly and obediently, fearing its heavenly wrath. He performed a number of simple songs, always receiving feedback from the voice, mainly criticism. He had just begun to get tired when the voice declared the lesson over.

"That's all for tonight. However, I would like you to meet me here at the same time next week for another lesson, and I would like you to practice before our next session. You may leave now."

"Thank you," Christian replied wearily. He was a bit surprised at how tired he suddenly found himself. "Thank you for everything."

He waited for a response, but the voice was gone. Now exhausted, Christian gathered up his lantern and headed for the crew quarters. He wouldn't have another shift for at least three or four hours. It was time to sleep.

* * *

Esther bustled around her cabin humming cheerfully. She was still coming to terms with the previous night. The new sailor had an amazing, if untrained, voice and looks to match. His blonde hair and pale blue eyes coupled with his still slightly pale complexion showed off his Swedish ancestry rather nicely. It was a rarity to see a sailor on the _Rose_ with cropped hair and Christian's short hair just added to his delightful personality. He had been so adorably hesitant and nervous last night! He was perfect...

Of course, she was a bit worried that he was so eager to believe she was an angel sent from Heaven to teach him to sing. That couldn't be a good mark of his mental health. But it didn't matter, she could worry about that later. He had been such a welcome distraction from the last night's earlier events. Killing that nosy bastard Buquet had helped a bit with getting out her anger, but it hadn't helped repair her shaken state of mind. If a mere glance of her face could strike so much fear into a hardened sailor that he actually screamed and fainted…

_Crash!_ One of the porcelain plates in Esther's arms slipped and fell to the floor. Esther jerked herself out of that particular reverie and set to cleaning up the shattered dish quickly, quickly back to dreaming of Christian.

"Esther? The door seems to be stuck. Could you possibly let me in?"

Esther dropped the porcelain remains in the rubbish bin and slid open the secret door. Not even an interruption from Nader could spoil her mood today. Once he was in, she resumed her cheerful cleaning.

Nader gaped. "Are you cleaning? As in, picking up your things off the floor and table and furniture? Not leaving the mess?"

Esther sidled up to him and grinned, though he couldn't see it through the black material of the bandana. She sighed dreamily. "Have you met the new sailor Christian yet?"

"Er, yes."

"He's a wonderful addition to the crew, isn't he?"

"Well, I suppose so."

Esther sighed again and continued cleaning. Nader stood silently and tried to piece the puzzle together.

"Are you in love with Christian?"

Esther stopped briefly, but remembered herself and quickly resumed cleaning. "Of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Esther, take it from a friend. This won't end happily. Don't get involved. Just try to forget about him and move on. You'll only get hurt." Nader braced himself for the resulting attack.

"Are you suggesting he can't love me?"

"No, I'm just saying it's not likely," Nader replied slowly, choosing his words carefully. "The boy scarcely knows how to play cards. I doubt he's ready for anything serious yet, and I know you like to go all in. When he does fall in love, well, I'm just saying you should try to be realistic."

Esther plopped down the sheaf of papers in her arms on the table. "Thanks for the advice," she replied sarcastically. "Now, if you would please escort yourself out…"

Nader took the hint and headed for the door. "I'm not saying it couldn't happen. You never know. By the way, I have information on our destination."

Esther sighed, but not in a dreamy fashion of any sort. "Just write it down and leave it on the table. I'll get to it later."

Nader bowed his head slightly in understanding and scribbled a few words on a spare scrap of paper. He set it on the wooden table and left Esther to her conflicting thoughts.

* * *

"Mademoiselle, hurry or we shall be late!" Angeline's voice echoed off the walls of the buildings surrounding them.

Rochelle silently cursed her brother for forcing her to wear her most elaborate dress the day of her voyage. It was far too long and the train dragged on the ground. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" she replied, hurrying along as fast as her restricting outfit would allow.

The maid had stopped and was now standing in the middle of the path, tapping her foot impatiently. "You don't want to miss the boat. Hurry!"

"I'm trying," Rochelle muttered under her breath, unconsciously slowing a bit. How she wished she didn't have to ride across the ocean to an unpleasant future! To an arranged husband…

"Mademoiselle, be careful!"

Rochelle didn't notice the rather long leg stretched out before her until she had tripped over it. "Ouch! Be careful!" Rochelle rubbed her ankle where she had fallen upon it. "Lazy brute," she muttered under her breath.

"Does that mean you won't give it a try?" the man in the doorway asked, grinning suggestively.

Rochelle shuddered. She picked herself up with as much dignity as possible and limped quickly away. "You vile man!"

The man just grinned again. "Don't worry, it never would have worked out."

This time Angeline pulled Rochelle away and dragged her to a wooden bench. "Are you all right, mademoiselle? Are you hurt?"

Rochelle touched her ankle gingerly and winced slightly. It was already beginning to swell. "I'll be fine," she assured her maid, "As long as we don't walk too quickly."

Angeline nodded and rose. She began off at a slightly slower pace. "Can you keep up?"

Rochelle gritted her teeth against the pain and limped off after Angeline. "Yes."

"Good."

The two continued at their fairly brief pace until reaching the port. There Angeline proceeded to bid Rochelle farewell.

"Aren't you coming with me?" Rochelle asked with concern when she realized what Angeline was doing.

The maid looked down. "I dearly wish I could, mademoiselle, but your brother wishes me to remain here. I will miss you dearly. I'm sorry. I've always wanted to travel some day, but it seems this is not the day."

Rochelle patted her back consolingly. "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll get the chance to travel someday and I'll visit you."

Angeline looked up and Rochelle was surprised to see there were tears in her eyes. "Thank you. I look forward to it." She took a deep breath and smiled slightly, though her eyes were joyless. "We should probably get you on the boat before it leaves, don't you think?"

"Yes," Rochelle agreed. She took Angeline's hand and the two young women boarded the boat. After one final embrace, Angeline departed and Rochelle was left alone.

Rochelle sighed and looked around. A couple of the sailors winked at her. She sighed, looking away and rolling her eyes. Was she being punished for being forced to leave Angeline behind?

Rochelle took a step forward and collapsed. She sat on the deck, clutching her throbbing ankle tightly. Suddenly the pent up tears began to fall. Rochelle sat silently, weeping, and dreading even more the journey ahead. Suddenly a hand reached out and brushed her tears away.

"It's fine, don't cry. Everything will be all right."

* * *

_Another sort-of cliffhanger, though this one will be a bit more suspenseful, I'm afraid. These are the end of the rewritten chapters, though more are on the way. I'll try to update as soon as I can, which will hopefully be sometime within the next week or so. You can always review!_


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